


Better Than A Dream

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-24
Updated: 2007-06-24
Packaged: 2019-03-12 14:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: The morning after the first night together, from Mark’s point of view.





	Better Than A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: *checks* Nope, still not my characters/universe/etc. (Damn.)
> 
> Notes: Me? Obsessed with what happens after the close of the first movie? Nevah. Title from [a Dean Martin song featuring Judy Holliday](http://www.lyricsfreak.com/d/dean+martin/better+than+a+dream+feat+judy+holliday_20163204.html).

Almost with a start he opens his eyes. The world is still very-early-morning dim and he blinks slowly, remembering the details of a most amazing dream even as he tries to focus on his surroundings. It isn’t his own bedroom, much smaller and yet (he can sense this somehow) more densely packed with things, but he can’t quite place where he is.

The hotel in New York? No. In a flash he remembers that he never got as far as the hotel. In fact, it’s coming back to him: he’d headed back to London almost immediately upon touchdown.

He raises his head up off the pillow. Still too dark in the room to quite make things out, just the lines forming the shape of the room, slightly darker masses with amorphous shapes against the wall. Then something to his right catches his eye: the slight rise and fall of the duvet beside him. He thinks of the dream he was having, wonders if he is perhaps _still_ dreaming, because he is not alone. He hopes he isn’t, even if he still can’t quite trust his recollections. Sleep deprivation does strange things to the memory, as does crossing approximately ten time zones.

He slips his hand out from under the sheets, reaching for the edge of the breathing duvet. He pulls it down very gently, catches sight of silky blonde hair upon the pillow beside him, the fan of lashes on her cheek and her slightly parted lips in profile as she draws slow, relaxed, measured breaths before he lets it settle back onto her, though he can still see her hair and closed eyes. She’s no dream. She’s as real as he is.

He is at once both thrilled and terrified by the stark reminder that he has for once done what he wanted to do rather than what he was expected to do. He’s already learned that with the liberty comes the unknown but once those the first tenuous steps were behind him he felt braver, happier, more alive than he had in a very long time. Despite the risk, he knows it will all be worth it. It already has been, because _this_ is where it has landed him. Right where he’d hoped it would.

Resting once more on the folded crook of his elbow, he realises he has spent quite a long time contemplating the curve of her cheek, reminiscing about being so very close to the sapphire of her eyes. Still sleeping, she arches herself so that her toes become visible from under the duvet at the foot of the bed. As she twists over onto her back she stretches her arms out but the left one meets the barrier of his own body, and momentarily she freezes. In the pale dusk of morning he sees her eyes flutter open, followed by a shy smile as her eyes focus upon him—at least he concludes that it is a smile from the way the corners of her eyes crinkle up, but she’s still got the duvet pulled up to her nose. He takes the edge again and pulls it down to reveal it is in fact a smile, far enough down to also reveal her bare shoulders, which he recalls are very smooth to the touch. He feels a smile of his own forming, and he is powerless to stop it.

They regard one another for a little while before he brushes loose strands of golden hair off of her face. His fingers linger upon her cheek and chin and he decides he needs to continue his foray into that great unknown, so he bends forward, leaning over her to kiss her. She reaches up to eagerly meet him.

He pulls back after a moment (with some degree of effort) to look at her again. He has become fully aware that there is no turning back down the uncharted path he’s chosen, and he couldn’t have looked forward to it more. _Not a dream at all_ , he tells himself again as he sees the rising sun shining in her eyes.

She turns to rest on her side so that they’re now facing one another, her body nearly touching his with nothing but the covers between them, their heads resting on the same pillow so that their faces are very close. “Hi,” she says; in that one simple word, her voice reverberates though his soul like the song he always knew was there but had somehow never heard before that moment.

“Hi,” he replies for lack of a better response, but he senses words don’t matter much at the present as he feels her fingers sweeping along his shoulder to the back of his neck. It’s not his imagination; they’re pressing into the skin there, urging him towards her. He allows them to, because he is better able to kiss her again that way.

His hands dip under the edge of the duvet, playing along her soft bends as he pulls her closer, drifting down her shoulder to her back then circling her waist. She arches her body once more, this time into him. He recalls that as of this same time yesterday he had never even touched her before. Now…

He feels her nails rake across his shoulder blades then trace a line down his spine, moving to the small of his back. He shivers a little from the light contact, but it turns his nerves to naked wire, duly reflected in the urgency of his kiss and the movement of his hands to the silken skin of her hips. As she pulls him onto her, he thinks this might just the best possible way in the world to wake up.

_The end._


End file.
